


dripping slowly from my blood-stained hand, someone release me from the bowels of hell, oh Lord

by VeteranKlaus



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Animals, Animals doing animal stuff which Is Not Good, Animals is nothing beastiality-like btw, Beating, Blood and Gore, Crucifixion, Dark fic, Don't ask why it's contradictory, Graphic Description, Homophobia, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Idk how to tag the animals but, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slurs, Threats of Violence, Torture, Violence, Whump, extreme violence, in case that sounds wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23145634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: It is ironic, he thinks, that he begins to pray now, like the man told him to do, despite the fact that he never has believed in God and he does not still. But he has seen Hell created in the name of God by this man, and if someone was watching him, he would only pray they would make this end. Unless the man was right about the abomination Klaus is, and this is his punishment.Or;The Apocalypse has been averted and he ought to be happy. His family is trying to act like a family again, Five is there, they know about Ben, too. But with the fresh cravings of bliss and the lack of progress with Dave, it is easy to allow himself a small break this one night.Had he been aware of what the man had planned, he would never have even left the Academy that day in fear of running into him.
Comments: 66
Kudos: 267





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE read the tags!! Or jump to the comments if you are concerned about triggering aspects of this, but heed the tags please!! 
> 
> Thanks to the wonderfully sadistic @TwistedIllusions who gave me this idea and helped me out while writing - and thus this piece of pure whump and pain was born. Thank you for encouraging my sadistic needs

“Come on, bro, lighten up.”

Klaus stares at Diego, face deadpan, and can hardly muster the energy to roll his eyes in response to his brother. He knows he ought to be happy on some level, because the past two weeks have been nothing but a victory against every odd in existence, but he simply, truly, does not feel victorious in the least.

The Apocalypse had been averted, the Academy back in perfect shape thanks to Five teleporting them back in time to the beginning of the Apocalypse week. Allison’s throat is almost fully healed and she can talk for a while now, and Vanya has recovered and has been training with Five, most of the time. Klaus has managed to manifest Ben multiple times now and he has managed to talk to the family without speaking through Klaus. Grace is alive, Diego’s police friend is alive, the Commission has not shown their face, and Klaus is sober. Everyone is living at the Academy and has begun the treacherous journey of being a family again.

It is a tremendous victory for everyone. Klaus understands this.

However, Klaus may be sober but the cravings are ever-present. Maybe not physically, but his mind has relied on drugs for the majority of his life, now, and being sober is like doing drugs for the first time. Being clean is unfamiliar and this harsh reality and lack of artificial happiness is terrifying. His emotions are haywire and he finds himself either utterly depressed and wrung dry, or furious and violent. He finds small happiness in his siblings progress, and seeing Ben’s smile when he hugged his siblings for the first time in years, but the emotion is distant. He is irritable and anxious and so exhausted.

It does not help that conjuring Dave has done nothing. Virtually every spare moment he has had so far has been spent on trying to conjure Dave, but as of the past couple days he has begun to give up, doing it less and less, with less effort. Of course, he wants to see Dave more than anything, but Dave does not come no matter how long or loud Klaus calls for him, and he is beginning to think that maybe it has been too long. Dave’s spirit has moved on and Klaus cannot find him and bring him back to his side.

He scrubs his hands down his face with a sigh, forcing a brief and tense smile to Diego. He is tired, and on edge, and as sober as a new born. But he is not going to ruin this.

They are at a restaurant for dinner; all of them, sitting around a table with an extra chair for Ben, who Klaus periodically manifests when he is feeling able to. No alcoholic drinks, which Klaus thinks is a nice sentiment – he half expected his siblings to overlook his struggles and just suddenly all become alcoholics themselves, wandering around with bottles of lovely whiskey and shaking little baggies of cocaine from their fingertips in front of his face just to taunt him, but it seems not even Klaus can be forgotten in this sudden quest for sibling bonding.

He curls his hand around his glass of lemonade, tapping his fingers against the side before ducking his head down to take a sip from his straw, forcing himself to pay attention to the conversation taking place.

Vanya is discussing her latest training session with Five, who nods his head, hums, and occasionally pipes up with comments on it too. Her powers aren’t necessarily under control, but nor are they out of control. She can calm herself down before her powers lash out with her emotions, and she can rein them in better. She’s doing great, and Klaus truly is proud of her and how far she’s come in such a short time.

“In no time you’ll be able to beat Luther’s ass, huh?” He jokes half-heartedly, then pinches the straw of his lemonade and twirls the ice in his glass, listening to it clink around satisfyingly. He reaches forwards, picks up the last piece of garlic bread on the middle of the table, and takes a bite out of it.

“I wanted that,” Diego complains, huffing at Klaus. He flips him off, taking another bite to fill out his cheeks with it, chewing obnoxiously until Diego nudges him with a glare. He washes the garlic bread down with the last of his lemonade and then he sighs, standing up.

“I’m gonna get another drink,” he says, lifting his glass and shaking the ice around in it. “Want anything?”

His siblings shake their heads, but then Allison raises her hand. “Can you ask them to send the bill?” She asks, and Klaus nods.

“You got it, my dear,” he hums, and then he wanders over to the bar. He slides onto a bar stool, watches the bartender fill his glass with lemonade, and then requests them to send the bill over to their table. He ought to just go back and sit with them, enjoy their chatter before they all pack up and leave, but he has no motivation to contribute to the conversation or be chided for not doing so, and so he remains at the bar, hands hugging his lemonade and pretending it is something stronger, that ought to burn its way down his throat and settle hotly in his stomach.

“You okay?”

Klaus’ eyes bounce to the side at Ben’s concerned face. “Of course,” he says, and then Ben’s face drops and he gives him an unamused look. Klaus waves him off. “I’m just not in the mood, you know how I’ve been lately. I’m fine, I just want to drink this and be sad in peace.”

Ben snorts at him, offering him a sad smile. “I know,” he says. “Are you sure?”

Klaus bobs his head in a nod. “Of course. Go interrupt them all, or listen to the goss and tell me about it later. I’ll be there in ten.”

Ben, dear, sweet Ben, who _gets_ Klaus on a level the others don’t, offers another smile, a genuine one, as if to say that he trusts Klaus despite the fact his ex-alcoholic brother is sitting at a bar, and Klaus appreciates it.

Ben slides back up to their other siblings’ side, sitting down on his pulled out chair and immersing himself in their chatter. Klaus returns his attention to his fresh lemonade, stirring it absentmindedly.

If he closes his eyes, he can almost convince himself he’s in ‘Nam, nursing a whiskey, listening to the sound of Dave’s feet hit the floor as he butchers a dance behind him.

He sighs heavily, resting his cheek on his hand and slumping slightly, taking a slow sip of his drink. Today has been good. His nails are painted a variety of colours and Allison gave him a new eyeliner pencil that he smudged around his eyes. They even had waffles for breakfast.

He’s just so tired. And he knows that he could so, so easily just forget everything, just for a few hours. He could forget about the ghosts, he could forget about the way Dave had choked on his own blood, he could forget about the lack of Dave despite how hard he might try to conjure him, and it would be so easy to do.

The stool to his right groans as someone sits in it, sliding their drink along the bar to come close to him. “Hey,” says the man, staring at him. “You look lonely.”

Klaus grunts, eying him for a brief second before looking away. “Well, I’m not,” he dismisses bluntly, pursing his lips and stirring his lemonade before taking a sip. The man is tall, and good-looking, he must admit, with captivating blue eyes and a rich voice, but Klaus, for once, is not interested at all. He doesn’t think his romantic or sexual drive has ever been lower in his life than it is at the moment, and he’s hardly in a mood for friendly conversation.

“I like the nails,” continues the man, staring at Klaus’ hands. Klaus ignores him; continues to stir his lemonade. “My name’s Tom,” he says, leaning forwards on the bar, and then he begins to chat absently. It is almost nice, the peaceful small talk, nothing abrupt and confrontational, and it warms Klaus up a little to giving the man some of his attention until he wrangles his name out of him.

“Klaus,” he says, and the man holds out his hand, raising his eyebrows. Klaus hesitates, feels something twist in his stomach, and then he reaches out and slips his hand into the man’s. Tom’s hand closes around his, warm and firm, and that feeling in his stomach spikes, his breath feels stolen at the contact.

Tom smiles, sparkling, warm, and squeezes his hand, lets the touch linger before setting his hands on the counter. Klaus blinks, taking his hand back and feels guilt when he leans in closer to the man to talk.

The man says things that makes him laugh; genuinely laugh, for the first time in a while. He feels a little lighter, tension melting from his body, and it feels nice to see someone smile at Klaus and lean close with sparkling eyes. He hates to admit it, but he revels in the feeling, in the comfort of familiarity; even more so when Tom shifts a little closer, sets a hand on his thigh, just high enough to hint to something more, but nothing forceful.

Klaus despises himself for embracing the touch. He had watched Dave die hardly two weeks ago, and here he was, giving up and giving in to the attention of some stranger.

But he can’t help it. It feels nice, to be smiled at, to be complimented, to be appreciated. It feels nice to know someone is looking at him, that people still want him.

Tom smiles, squeezes his thigh, turning to angle his body to better face Klaus. “Your eyes are amazing,” says the man, and Klaus’ cheeks flush, but he flutters his eyelashes in response. The man takes the chance to lean close, moving his hand from his thigh to his cheek, holding his head in place, and Klaus’ breath hitches at the proximity of him. He closest his eyes and it is Dave’s hand on his cheek; it is in the exact spot Dave would touch, when they were alone in bed together, or outside at night and leaning against a tree, or around the back of the club at night, just before he would lean in and kiss him.

The man’s tongue dashes across his lips and his voice is quiet and low as he says, “crazy to think you’re here by yourself.”

Klaus hesitates, heart skipping a beat. “Not anymore,” he murmurs, and the man’s lips twitch before going up. His breath is warm as it ghosts over his skin when he leans even closer and Klaus can’t help the thrill of excitement that runs through him like electricity. He tips his head up slightly, an invitation, one the man takes.

He closes the distance, kisses him surprisingly roughly, immediately taking dominance over the kiss. Klaus has to balance himself on his barstool, leaning forwards to match his intensity with a young enthusiasm. He hears ice clink in his lemonade before the man’s other hand comes to rest on the other side of Klaus’ face, and the kiss stretches out for several longer moments before they part, Klaus reeling slightly.

He blinks at the man, somewhat surprised, and Tom just smirks. “Finish your drink,” he says, gesturing at his lemonade, “and we can go for a walk.”

Fuck it, Klaus thinks. He needs a break and if it isn’t in the form of alcohol or drugs, then perhaps it can be in the form of attention. People had always called him an attention whore, and they’re not wrong, he thinks, but he is so tired and he needs something and Dave is gone, completely, utterly gone.

Klaus downs his lemonade and they stand up. “One second,” he says, and he hurries over to his siblings, still chattering but beginning to clean up their plates and stand up, pulling their coats on. “I’m going for a walk,” he says, eyes bouncing back to Tom, lingering a few paces behind him. “I’ll be back later.”

Diego raises his eyebrows at him, glances at Tom, then nods after sharing a look with his siblings. “Alright,” he says. “Stay safe, bro. Phone if you need anything, alright?”

Klaus nods, offering a smile, and then his eyes fall to Ben, looking at him with a vaguely concerned look. He offers his brother a reassuring smile, shaking his head as if to dismiss his worries. “I’ll be fine,” he promises. “I’ll see you later.”

He offers a salute to his siblings before spinning around, acting now with much more energy than he has felt in the past week as he returns to Tom’s side. “Ready?”

Klaus hums, nodding, and they head outside into the cool evening air.

“Where are we going, then, Tom?”

“Well,” says the brunette, “I was thinking we could cut through the park. My car’s parked on the other side, and I know this real nice place out of town – it’s beautiful, you’d love it.”

Klaus raises his eyebrows, but nods his head in eager agreement. He presses himself against Tom’s side, wishes desperately he has a bottle of something fiery to take the edge off – though, he notices slightly, that he’s suddenly feeling rather tired and light headed. By the time they reach the far side of the park, Tom has an arm around his waist to steady him.

“Can – can we sit down, soon?” Klaus asks, heavy eyes blinking up at him. Tom looks distracted.

“My car’s just here,” he says, pulling out his keys and pointing to a truck. Klaus lets out a sigh of relief, especially when he’s able to clamber into the passenger’s seat and rest his head backwards, closing his eyes to block out the way the world spins. He hears Tom get into the seat beside him.

“You feeling okay?” He asks, and Klaus hums.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, scrubbing a heavy hand down his face. “Just… tired,” he settles on eventually.

“Well, it’s a bit of a drive to the place I want to show you, if you still want to go, so I won’t be insulted if you take a nap.”

Klaus snorts. He isn’t that tired, nor that rude, to just collapse in this guy’s car. Nor is he that stupid and reckless anymore. However, there is something comforting in the familiarity of being with a stranger and being vulnerable, and it almost convinces him that the Apocalypse and his sobriety was just some bad trip and he’s still on the streets, still high and still sleeping around.

Whether he wants to or not, Klaus finds himself asleep with his head against the window within five minutes of the guy starting up his car.

###

He wakes up sometime throughout the car ride. Tom eyes him and Klaus struggles to sit upright, feeling absolutely no better than before, but he overlooks it. “Are – are we nearly there?” He asks, and Tom hums.

“Nearly there,” he confirms. Klaus smiles, watching his face for several moments. He blinks.

“Do you really think I’m beautiful?” He asks, slouching as he leans forwards. Tom eyes him quietly, though Klaus doesn’t notice the pause. He just smiles more when the man nods, when his hand settles on his cheek. He leans eagerly into the touch, setting one of his own hands on Tom’s thigh, fingers wandering in attempt to get the man to give him more attention.

“We’re here,” he says finally, and Klaus blinks, hums, pulling back his hand.

Half-asleep and on unsteady legs, Klaus stumbles out of the car, blinking blearily and looking around. One hand on the vehicle steadies him as he does so.

They are out of the city, he realises, and rather in the middle of a field. Besides for a tree a few yards from him, it is completely barren.

“Why are we here?” Klaus asks, and doesn’t notice the slur to his own words.

“Klaus, I don’t like this,” murmurs a voice, and he turns to see Ben. He can’t remember Ben arriving, but he can’t remember the majority of the car ride, either, so it doesn’t matter. “Ask him to take you back. This is weird, Klaus. Are you – are you drunk?”

“I didn’t drink,” Klaus tells him, blinking and looking to the slightly blurry form of Tom. “Why’re we here? And,” he turns his head to the tree, eyes narrowing, “what’s that? You see that?”

He can’t quite make it out from here, but from a tree branch hangs a rope, attached to something on the floor. It is the only thing of interest around the place. He looks up as Tom comes close, reaching a hand out to hold his arm as the world spins even more.

“I’m sorry,” he says, deflating, “I – I don’t feel well, can we just go back? I need to go home-“

Tom turns his arm around to grip Klaus’, fingers curling around and digging into his skin tightly. “I know you don’t feel well,” he says, and his tone is cold, and his eyes colder, and Klaus doesn’t understand why. He tries to tug him in the direction of the car.

“C’mon,” he says, stumbling. “We can – look, I’m – we can go back to yours, yeah? Do whatever you want, or I could suck your dick here, if you – if you want, or-“

“Klaus, he’s got a fucking-“

The hand held behind Tom’s back swings forwards as fast as lightning, and something hits his cheek, hard. It bowls him over, knocks him to the ground, and pain explodes in his face. He lifts a hand to his hot cheek, blinking his shock and pain away.

“T-Tom?” He stammers, voice wavering. “I – _what_ -“ He turns his head to look up at him as he comes closer, grass crunching beneath his feet, but then something hits him in the head once more. The strike stuns him and he collapses onto the ground, ears ringing and world slowing like a video buffering.

Then, as if someone has pulled the trigger on a gun, the world returns to him in a burst of pain and noise.

“Klaus, manifest me and run, you need to move-“

“What are you doing?” Klaus moans, throwing his hands over his head. He tries to push himself away from Tom but the man is on his feet and not injured or inebriated like Klaus, and he is impossible to lose. He reaches a hand out to curl in Klaus’ hair, lifting him by it slightly, and he whines in discomfort. “T-Tom, what-“

“There were children in that restaurant, you know,” Tom says, and it takes his sluggish mind several moments for Klaus to understand what he’s saying. By the time he does, however, the man is already continuing to speak. “There were innocent children and you were prancing about in women’s pants and makeup. It’s one thing to turn to that lifestyle, but you’re going out and preying on children and putting them in danger – you’re disgusting,” he hisses, and Klaus has no clue what he’s talking about.

He has nail polish and eyeliner on. He’s not whatever this man is accusing him of being – a paedophile? He doesn’t understand. He tugs at his hand in his hair, trying to free himself to no avail.

“I’m just doing my job of protecting people from people like you,” continues Tom, just before something collides with his face again. His head whips to the side and he cries out, throwing his arms up to cover his face, struggles to listen to the man and Ben.

“Manifest me, Klaus, you need to manifest me and I’ll – I’ll take care of him, just focusing quickly-“

“You are unnatural – God gave us a way and you broke it. I have to watch people act as if you’re right, as if you aren’t a danger to society, as if you don’t go against the law of _God_ -“

The pipe, for Klaus realises now that is what the man is wielding and what he is using to beat him with, continues to rain down upon him, and Klaus thrashes his heavy limbs; kicks out at the man, managing, a few times, to shove him away. He plants his feet on Tom’s chest and shoves him back before immediately turning onto his hands and knees, swaying, and trying to crawl away, anywhere else. He manages, briefly, to get onto his feet, stumbling a few paces forwards before listing to the side and collapsing heavily onto the ground, and he resigns himself to some sort of half-crawl, half-run.

“I – I can’t,” he gasps to Ben, trying, and failing, to find that well of energy that resides deep within himself to manifest his brother. “I can’t – drugged, he _drugged_ me, Ben-“

A hand closes around his ankle and drags him backwards. The gravity of the situation is rapidly dawning on him, and he thrashes with renewed vigour, begins to yell out for help. It is dark outside and he can’t see around them the best, but the car’s headlights are still on nearby and help him a little – just enough for him to see, painfully clearly, that there is not a single house nearby. The city is a distant blur of buildings’ silhouettes and the sound of cars is distant, headlights twinkling far away, too far that no one would hear him no matter how loud he screams.

A heel presses down on the back of his head, shoving his face into the ground and muffling his yells, dirt and grass invading his mouth, and he writhes; hands scrabbling at Tom’s leg, shoving and grabbing weakly. The pipe, hard and cold, collides with his lower back and he yells, tries to arch away from it, but then it meets his hips, his trembling thighs.

Finally, the foot comes from his head and he yanks his head up from the ground, gasping for clean air and spitting out grass. He throws his arms forwards, digging his fingers into the dirt and trying to pull himself along the ground. If he can get far enough away, perhaps he will give up and leave him alone. Perhaps he can find someone taking their dog for a walk nearby and they will help, or maybe he can run to the closest road and get a lift. Maybe he could even steal the man’s car and drive away to safety, then get help.

He thinks about the cheap mobile phone in his front pocket. If he can just phone someone –

As if able to read his thoughts, Tom ensures that the next strike lands on his left hand, and Klaus howls, yanking his hands to his chest. He has the urge to curl up in on himself, try to make himself a smaller target and protect his body, but he also longs to get up and run.

Tom is still speaking, he realises. His ears are ringing and Ben is still yelling, and crying, but he can make out a continuous religious rant at him.

“P-please,” he gasps, curling in on his side, ducking his head close to his chest. “Tom, please – I don’t – hurt people, please, stop, stop –“

A hand curls into his hair, dragging his upper body off the floor, and he clings to the hand. Tom’s voice is hot like blood in the shell of his ear. “You are an abomination,” he declares in a hiss full of hatred. “You are a sinner and you are dragging everyone down in your life. You and all of your friends are going to Hell for this-“

Klaus stops listening when another hit comes. His hand disappears and he crumples to the floor, throwing his arms over his head. The pipe collides with his stomach with enough force that he throws up onto the dirt beside him, gagging and retching and clutching his stomach. He rolls onto his stomach slightly, curling up and trying to hide himself, only to feel the weapon collide with his back once, twice, again. He hears a sickening crack echo in the darkness and he screams, one hand lashing out in a pathetic attempt to push Tom away.

One arms remains curled protectively around his head while another hand reaches out behind him, trying to drag himself backwards. “W-why?” He croaks, peering out at Tom looming over him, watching him try to drag himself away, gasping and crying. “Why – are you doing this?”

He sees the man’s grip on the pipe shift and he flinches, dropping to the ground to wind both his arms around his head. He hears grass crunch underfoot near his head. “What you’re doing,” says Tom, voice cold and unapologetic, “is immoral and wrong. I can’t stand seeing people like you, getting away with what you do, corrupting innocent people. It’s disgusting. This is a chance to pay for what you’ve done.”

Klaus sobs, shaking his head. There are plenty of reasons to be mad at Klaus, plenty of times Klaus has gotten himself into trouble for different reasons, but he has never met someone so vehemently disgusted and enraged by his preference for men. He’d never imagined something like this could truly happen to him. Some yelling or a brief fight, perhaps, but never something like this. It was something you only saw happen to unfortunate people on the news or in different countries. Not to him, after he had just had dinner with his family.

A hand curls into his shirt, and then he’s being dragged by it. He opens his eyes, disoriented by the way the sky spins overhead, blinded by the stars, and it takes him a moment to make sense of what he’s seeing – the head lights, the shadows, the floor and the sky. He digs his fingers once more into the dirt, trying to put up some form of resistance, though it is futile.

He kicks out, feels one of his shoes come loose and fall off in his struggle, and then, desperate, he ducks his head and bites the man’s arm.

A fist knocks his head off his arm and then his body is being pressed into the cold dirt as Tom straddles him, pinning his legs down, and he cranks his fist back and crashes it into his face, again, and again, and again, until blood swells in his mouth. His arms come up to cover his face once more, but Tom grabs his wrists and pins them to his own chest in a bruising grip.

He feels blood drip from his nose and onto his lips, and he chokes on it, spitting out onto the ground and gagging. He screws his eyes shut as if he might be able to hide from the blows. He gives up on begging him to stop, knowing it is futile.

He doesn’t even notice when Tom gets off him. Still reeling from the constant blows to his head, everything becomes distant and muffled for several moments; not quite unconscious, but neither entirely conscious. When life seeps back into him, he realises he is being dragged back by his hair.

He gasps for breath, lungs struggling to fully expand. His body aches furiously and he feels nearly paralysed with pain.

“Your phone, Klaus, _please_ ,” Ben begs, his voice wavering. “Just – phone Diego, phone the Academy, anyone, or the police, let someone know-“

He tries to move his hands towards his pockets, but finds his body won’t cooperate with him anymore. He simply lets himself be dragged wherever Tom wants to drag him to.

The hand in his hair pulls him up, forces him onto his feet and over the hood of his car. He grapples for purchase, tries to hold himself up, but he feels as if his bones have been pulled out or turned into jelly. His knees buckle and he is only upright as long as it takes Tom to tear his shirt off his body; as he throws it aside, he crumples to the ground, leaning against the car and shivering against the chill in the air.

“Please,” he gasps, forcing his eyes open although he finds he can’t make either one open fully. “Please, Tom, please, leave – leave me alone, I’m sorry-“

“You chose to turn your back on God,” says Tom, crouching down in front of him, knuckles tight over the pipe in his grasp. “You’re nothing but a disgusting faggot. I’m doing something right to try and fix this.”

He stands up, fingers drumming on the short pipe he holds, and then he pulls it back. It hits the bottom of his jaw, throws his head back, and he collapses backwards onto the ground, gasping in pain, body convulsing slightly.

The world is dark around him. He thinks it might be raining. Pain explodes in his chest. Maybe his body is caving in on itself like a shattered porcelain doll. He can’t stop staring at the sky and the stars spinning overhead.

For once, he is glad Dave is not here. Dave would hate watching this while being unable to help. It’d kill him.

But, Klaus supposes, he had been ready to forget Dave in favour for another man. He brought this upon himself.

He can feel skin tear open upon injuries, feel his bones bruise and crumble beneath blows. He feels a hand circle one of his ankles again, using it to drag him elsewhere, towards that singular tree that stands out like a landmark. Rocks and twigs dig into his skin and he keens, high in his throat. He pries his eyes open, watches the back of Tom as he trudges onwards, one hand encircling his ankle. He looks around at the field they are in as if there might suddenly be a house, or a group of people nearby that he can scream to for help. There is nothing besides Ben and Tom.

He twists onto his stomach, swallowing down his nausea and digging his nails into the dirt, fisting his fingers into grass. He tries to use his un-held leg to push himself away, but his body is weak and useless, not even putting up enough of a struggle to make Tom turn and hurt him again. His mouth tastes like blood and dirt.

The pipe clatters to the ground and the sound is beautiful. Hands hook beneath his armpits and drag him even further, lifting him slightly and dropping him onto what feels like a plank of wood that digs in between his shoulder blades.

Can ghosts have panic attacks? It sounds as if Ben is having one. His breathing is harsh and irregular, interrupted by sharp yells, begging Klaus to move, to run, to do something, _anything_ -

A hand grabs one of his wrists and pulls his arm from his chest, stretching it out as far as it can go. It holds his forearm down to wood, and there is the sound of Tom fumbling for something. A sharp point is pressed down below his wrist and Ben is screaming over Tom telling him that he will be forgiven, that he needs to repent, to offer himself.

Then; pain. It explodes like a bonfire in his wrist and he shrieks; snaps his eyes open to watch a nail be driven through his own flesh. A new sense of horror fills him, lighting all his nerves with adrenaline, and he screams, tries to kick and lash out, tugging his hand and thrashing. Tom grimaces, but then something hard hits Klaus’ head and everything goes dark.

His arms are stretched out wide either side of him, painfully tugging his shoulders and spreading his chest. There is a hand on his foot. Both his shoes are off. His feet are cold. Pain, pain, pain. Klaus screams, but he cannot move his arms, and his other leg is being held down, and his brain has been turned to mush in his skull and he retches against the spike of nausea in his body.

His next foot; a nail forced through his skin, close to his ankle, pinning it permanently into the wood he is on. Klaus realises belatedly from his positioning and the feeling of wood down his spine and along his arms, that it is in the shape of a cross. The wood is harsh, wonky, splinters digging into his skin, rope biting into his back from where it has been wound around the wood in an attempt to give the cross shape some support.

A hand grabs his jaw; forces him back out of the darkness. Tom is saying something to him. Klaus can’t be bothered making his ears focus. His hand squeezes his jaw, painful and white-hot, and he moans pitifully, forcing his eyes open. The brunette’s face is blurry, shadowed by his car’s headlights behind him, and he looks like a shadow of death, Klaus thinks. He drops his head and it falls to his chest, limp, and everything slips away.

He slides down slightly. Pain erupts everywhere and a litany of pleads tumble subconsciously from his lips. Vertigo hits him as he is heaved upright; there is a rope attached to the cross, swung over branches of the tree, and Tom pulls it taught, pulling him upright. He stops at an odd angle, leaving it to lean almost vertically against the tree, and Klaus can only sob at the pain. It feels like his arms are going to be torn off. It feels like his feet are going to be crushed by his own body.

He hears Tom speaking. The words struggle to make sense in his mind. “Pray,” he says, “and confess and you might be forgiven. Don’t, and you’ll receive just punishment for this.”

His shoulders burn and he struggles to inhale until his lungs burn. He gasps, splutters between his sobs and cries. Distantly, he is aware of Tom retreating; returning to his car, he gets inside, reverses, and his headlights disappearing, washing Klaus in darkness.

There is a chill in the air.

Klaus wishes the darkness would seep into his bones and drag him down, but his body is on fire and it keeps him horrifically aware of everything.

This cannot be real. It cannot be real. How long has passed since he left the restaurant? Since he told his family he was going on a walk? It feels like lifetimes ago. He does not feel like the same person who sat down at the bar to ask for a refill of lemonade. All he knows now is pain.

Maybe Tom had been right about Hell, but Klaus would assume that he is in it here, strung up outside in the dark, with Ben begging Klaus to open his eyes, to do something.

There is only one thing Klaus can do; he tips his pounding head back and he screams.

###

The sun rises.

In the light, Klaus can see blood. A lot of blood. It splatters across the grass around him and shows a gruesome scene; two discarded shoes, tire tracks, drag marks and nails marks in the ground. A bloody pipe discarded on the floor near Klaus. A torn, bloody shirt caught on a rock.

He isn’t that far from the ground. The cross is shoddy, only just fits him, like some shitty home DIY project. The ground taunts him. It would be so nice to stand flat on his feet, to lay right down and have no pressure on his body.

It is difficult to breathe. At some point before the sun rose, Klaus learned that if he wanted to stop the burn in his lungs, he had to lift himself up by his own wrists to be able to do so. Blood runs down from his wrists, hot in contrast to his icy skin.

“K-Klaus,” Ben mumbles, voice tearful. Klaus doesn’t react in fear of jostling himself. He struggles for slivers of air and, when it isn’t enough, he inches himself up by the nails in his wrists, gasps, and then slumps. “Klaus, please – say something, Klaus.”

He doesn’t quite say something, but he makes a noise.

There is dirt beneath his painted nails.

He is tired. Ben says something else. Klaus drifts.

###

His phone rings.

It jolts him out of Dave’s arms and into reality and he sobs at the pain the movement bursts free in him.

Tucked into the pocket on his hips, the cheap mobile Allison had bought him vibrates furiously. Ben sobs at the sound of it, both of them unable to reach it. Klaus joins in.

###

His mind feels like a thick swamp; muddled and hard to wade through the mess of his thoughts. He feels freezing despite the sun that shines down on him through the gaps in the leaves overhead and sweat intermingles with the blood and dirt on his skin. A fever, probably.

His thigh burns and tremors run through his body. He struggles to hold his head upright, so he simply doesn’t.

His chest burns. He sags, limp, and the further he slumps, the more it hurts, the harder it is to breathe. He pushes up with his thighs, gasps for air, and tries to hold himself up for as long as he can, but it hurts and his legs are already exhausted from the effort, and he always ends up slumping, putting pressure on his wrists instead.

It is agony, but sometimes the pain slips away from him. Everything gets muted and muffled, becomes distant and far away. His mind turns to different thoughts, and a lot of them concern Dave.

He wants Dave. He wants Dave to make everything better. He longs for the feeling of Dave’s arms arm around him, the steady beating of his heart beneath his ear, the husky tone to his voice early in the mornings. He misses the way he would run his hand through his hair, run his thumb along his cheek, and stare at Klaus as if he had galaxies in his eyes.

Is that wrong? Klaus doesn’t understand how that could be so wrong. He loves Dave. He loves Dave so much, and he feels horrible for giving up on him, for being so ready to forget him in favour of the brief attention of a stranger. He doesn’t doubt he deserves this, that he brought this upon himself.

But he loves Dave. Whole-heartedly, he loves Dave, and he wants him now more than ever.

He can almost hear him. Almost feel his hands run over his trembling arms, on his cheek, a hand on his waist. He tilts his head towards the phantom sensation only for it to shatter, and his wrists explode and he’s back against a tree in the middle of nowhere.

“Klaus,” Ben pleads, “Klaus, the others, they’ll be looking for you, you just need to hang on, Klaus, please look at me, I’m right here-“

Klaus moans. He can’t bring himself to open his eyes. He’s so tired.

###

There is a flutter of wings; birds cawing nearby. He flinches away from a small gust of wind and forces his eyes open, tilting his head so that he can see the dark figure of a crow perched above his arm, staring at him with beady eyes. When he looks around, there are multiple other crows around, dancing around the place; they pick curiously at his shirt on the floor, eye the pipe still stained with his own blood. They hop around his feet, head tilting rapidly.

Klaus tries to shrug off the one near his arm, but it only brings pain and he swiftly gives up. He can’t find the energy or strength to care. Instead, he stares at the distant form of towering buildings, so tauntingly close to him.

His phone rings. The crows jump back and the one by his arm flies to the floor.

Klaus wonders what his siblings are doing. Do they think he has gone and relapsed, that he is in an alleyway, world melting around him in a haze of drugs.

His phone beeps. A message relays automatically, and Klaus struggles to tune in to the sound.

It is quiet, the voice distorted, his phone probably damaged, but he can still hear it, still recognise the voice as Diego’s.

_“Hey, bro. Look, I know you’re probably just out with that other guy, right, but your phone’s on and you’ve not opened anyone’s messages, and we know you’ve been down lately. We’re trying that whole family shtick, right? So, uh. Just call back, or something, bro. You didn’t come back last night and we’re worried. I’ll come pick you up, if you need. Just let me know.”_

The phone emits a long beep, requesting Klaus either respond to the message or delete it.

Klaus hangs his head, staring at the top of his cheap phone poking out from his pocket, and he sobs. His fingers twitch as if he might be able to reach for it. He doesn’t.

The crow comes back up to sit by his wrist.

###

He watches the crows through half-opened eyes. They pick at his shirt for a while, tearing it even further, and they end up pulling the laces out of his shoes, too. They peck at the pipe, too, but it is too heavy and hard for them and they give up on it.

Instead, they start to get closer to him. They settle by his arms, on the branches over his head. They study his wounds with dark eyes, caw, and flutter around him. Then, one of them settles above his wrist, chirps, and its beak snaps at him. Klaus flinches, jumping, and then he cries out in the sudden, electric wave of pain that tears through him. He can hardly move, however, and all it does is jar his wounds and reopen them, sending fresh blood trickling down his skin and renewed agony seizing his body.

He shakes his head furiously, crying out and yelling in an attempt to scare the bird off, but it seems the bird knows as well as he that Klaus is trapped, and that he will be dead soon anyway. Perhaps the birds can simply make it happen faster.

Of course he knows he is going to die. How he hasn’t already he has no idea. Something stops him from suffocating himself, keeps forcing him to struggle through pain to breathe, to listen to Ben.

He feels bad for Ben. He has to watch this all happen. He refuses to leave his side, and whether or not Klaus is sober enough now to manifest him doesn’t matter, because he is too weak to do so.

His head falls back, some pathetic attempt to struggle for air. His hands feel numb.

The birds’ beak lashes out at his blood stained fingers.

###

He drifts in and out of consciousness, though it always comes back to him in the same way; his lungs burning, begging for air, and him blindly thrusting himself upwards. He gasps shallowly for air as fire devours his feet. Wind created by the movements of wings forces his matted hair from his face, birds continue to flutter around him. They caw uncertainly, almost impatiently, as if angered that Klaus somehow isn’t dead yet. They perch themselves along his arms, talons scratching him, and their beaks snap at his wounds. Blood that had previously dried on his skin is broken and trickles anew, which only draws their attention more.

Klaus’ phone rings. It beeps.

_“Klaus, come on, just answer your phone. We’re getting worried now, bro. Just answer your phone or even have B-Ben tell us you’re okay, okay? Just let one of us know you’re alright.”_

Talons dig into his thigh; wings flap furiously. A bird snaps at his ribs, pulling back and tearing flesh. The pain is indistinguishable. He closes his eyes.

###

He can tell when things really take a turn for the worse. His minds gets more muddled, reality bleeds into unconsciousness and he’s never entirely certain that he’s not unconscious. He can hardly breathe and he doesn’t try to; the sliver of oxygen he steals periodically will have to be enough. He doesn’t pay much attention to the birds. He can’t help but pay attention to the cold, instead. It gets dark outside again; he misses the sunset. The darker it gets, the colder it gets. He is so cold.

His body itches infuriatingly. He doesn’t want to think about the possibility of if his wounds have brought birds to him, what else they might have attracted.

His mouth is painfully dry. It still tastes of blood and dirt and bile.

How long has it been? He wishes this would happen faster. It can’t go on for much longer now; one of the birds must end up lashing out at the wrong, or right, place, or he must eventually bleed out, or not be able to function with this lack of oxygen. Or will he be forced to die from exposure, or dehydration, or even starvation? Hypothermia? Exhaustion? Will his body just shut down? He can almost feel it doing that.

It is agonisingly slow. Hours trickle by, dragged out between bouts of unconsciousness, marked by burning lungs, exhausted muscles and birds. The headlights of cars in the distance dazzles him, along with the lights of the city turning on when it gets dark. He thinks, as he stares at the lights, that the city looks horrifically beautiful. Then he can hardly lift his head anymore, and keep his eyes open, so he doesn’t.

“Klaus?” Says Ben at some point, voice weak and afraid, sounding so young and muffled to his ears. He only just manages to muster enough effort to tilt his head in Ben’s direction. “Klaus, I’m – I’m right here, Klaus. I’m – I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” He hears Ben trail off into tears, which Klaus thinks is surprising. Ghosts are peculiar things. Ben splutters, exhales shakily. “I love you, Klaus.”

Oh, he thinks. Ben has accepted the fact that Klaus is going to die now.

He tries to speak, but his tongue is heavy and dry in his mouth and he can’t do it; all he manages is a pitiful moan that steals all his breath left in his aching lungs.

He wonders if he’ll be stuck here when he dies. Unable to leave this place, lost and confused and afraid. He wonders if he’ll recognise Ben or not even acknowledge him. He wonders if he’ll see Dave.

He prays it will be soon. It is ironic, he thinks, that he begins to pray now, like the man told him to do, despite the fact that he never has believed in God and he does not still. But he has seen Hell created in the name of God by this man, and if someone was watching him, he would only pray they would make this end. Unless the man was right about the abomination Klaus is, and this is his punishment.

###

The sun rises. He forgets, briefly, where he is as he gazes upon it, only to tug at his bonds and bring back the pain he had forgotten about. He watches new blood swell up on his wrists and follow the old trails down his arms, dripping down his sides. It is incredible that he still has enough blood to lose.

It is almost hypnotic to watch.

A black beak lunges with renewed vigour at his bicep and he closes his eyes, turning away from it, but unable to stop it.

His phone rings again. It hurts his bruised hip.

 _“If you don’t answer your phone, we’re going to track it in ten minutes, Klaus. We’re worried for you – if you’ve just dropped this and…”_ Diego exhales, stress evident in his voice _. “We’re tracking your phone. You better be with it.”_

Well, Klaus thinks. If only they had done it earlier.

Time slips away from him and it comes back to him in the form of his phone beeping steadily. A bird caws at it, digs its talons into his thigh for purchase and pecks unsuccessfully at the object before flying a few feet away.

Ben is saying something. Crying as well, he thinks. He can’t be sure. Air wheezes pathetically down his throat.

The beeping on his phone continues for what must only be a few minutes, and then something happens. There is a flash of blue and the birds around him loudly protest the sudden appearance of a person, hurrying to fly away in their shock.

Ben makes a noise of surprise, then excitement, and starts yelling for Klaus’ attention. Then, in a new voice, a shocked; “ _Klaus_?”

Grass crunches underfoot and Klaus’ heart rises suddenly into his throat, but it is sluggish and slow and even his fear is muted slightly.

“Shit, Klaus, what the fuck happened?”

He knows the voice. He struggles to place it for several moments before he manages to pry open his eyes partly and his eyes land on Five, eyes comically wide, standing just below him. His eyes study Klaus rapidly, up and down, up and down, side to side, categorising his injuries. Then he reaches up, tugs the phone from Klaus’ pocket, and immediately dials emergency services before dropping the phone in favour of Klaus.

He rests a hand on his leg, unable to reach much higher than his waist, and he pats him. “Are you with me, Klaus? Can you hear me?”

Klaus moans, blinking and bringing his gaze back to his brother, unaware of when he had looked away. “Good,” says Five, and he pauses. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to tell the others. Help’s coming.”

And then he’s gone. Klaus lets his eyes close, but it is hardly a minute before Five is back. He hovers in front of Klaus on the floor, lips pressed together as he eyes the scene. With a flash, he appears behind Klaus, hovering by his shoulders and balancing himself on a thick branch. He reaches forwards, gentle hands cupping Klaus’ face and tilting it in his direction.

“They’re on their way,” he tells him in a distracted murmur. “If I try to get you down myself, I’ll just hurt you more. Can you speak to me, Klaus? How long have you been here? Who fucking did this?” Barely restrained anger slips into his tone but his hands remain gentle as he tips his head back, resting it back against the wood behind him. Klaus tries to find his tongue again.

He doesn’t know how long has passed; it feels like weeks. “R-restaurant,” he croaks out, voice hardly more than a whisper, and he wheezes for air after it. Five frowns, mutters a curse, then leans forwards.

“I’m going to hold you up,” he says, and his hands rest lightly over his burning shoulders. “Okay?”

Limply, Klaus nods his head, as if he even really has a choice. Five leans further forwards, arms sliding beneath his armpits, and then he tugs him upwards slowly, carefully. The pressure on his chest loosens slightly, allowing him to breathe a little more, but he can’t help but whine in pain. He thinks he might hear Five utter a quiet, genuine apology, and then Five holds him in place.

If he cared enough to think, he might say it is impressive that Five is able to take the majority of his weight, especially when Klaus’ thighs give out and he stops pushing off his feet in an attempt to somewhat hold himself up, leaving Five to do so. He isn’t sure whether Five has the physical strength to do it or just the mental training to keep himself from stopping.

“Talk to me, Klaus,” Five murmurs at some point. “Tell me, who did this?”

Klaus inhales. “T-Tom,” he breathes, and his face pinches, head dipping low. Why? Because he simply couldn’t stand Klaus. He wanted to prolong this, wanted him dead in a way that was slow and painful and lonely, and he had assumed what he was doing was right.

He can’t find the energy to cry.

Five doesn’t say anything for several moments. He keeps his hold on Klaus steady, unwavering, and the ability to breathe feels unfamiliar.

“You’ll be alright, Klaus,” he says eventually. “Just keep your eyes open.”

It is so hard to do, but the approaching sirens and flashing lights steals his attention.

It is a surprising amount of vehicles driving their way. Five must have stressed the situation well enough, because there are police cars, ambulances, and fire trucks all coming to them. And, behind them, two more cars; he recognises Diego’s, he recognises Allison’s.

There is yelling. He can see Diego being held back, his eyes wide. Five ignores his siblings in favour of the approaching authorities.

“He’s been here for two nights,” he informs. “This is tied around the tree; you need to lower him before you do anything. He can’t breathe properly on his own and if you take those out like this, you’ll end up killing him. Klaus? Klaus-“

The flashing lights are dizzying. They make the world spin around him and his eyes roll in his skull. He doesn’t like how many people are around him, how much yelling there is, orders, equipment being dragged around him, the distant sound of Diego yelling.

And then his world tilts; being lowered incredibly slowly, inch by inch supported, and Five’s grip on Klaus tightens as the movement causes his weight to shift and cry in pain. His head spins with sudden vertigo and he moans his protest.

In a surprisingly gentle voice, Five leans close and murmurs, “it’s okay, Klaus, we’re getting you down. You’re going to be alright, just relax.”

Finally, he is laid out on the ground, and people descend upon him. He can’t help but flinch away from them, trying and failing to bring his arms up over his head. Five’s hands hold his head and he hushes him, then looks up at the people around them. “Give him some damn space,” he says, and his eyes flick to someone else. He gently lifts Klaus’ head off the floor and with the nearby sound of electronic beeping and steady whirring, a mask is slid over his head and secured around his mouth and nose.

Five’s face swims into view. “Relax now, Klaus, you’re alright,” he tells him. His face is being bathed in a constantly flickering blue and red light. Klaus looks past him, up at the sky, and his mind and emotions are a mess. He doesn’t know what to think, what to feel.

So instead, Klaus closes his eyes, and part of him isn’t concerned about not opening them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be from the siblings' POV of this  
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Diego has gotten used to Klaus’ moods, sort of, so he is not overly surprised whenever he sees Klaus moping around or when Klaus snaps at people; especially not when his sobriety is still in the early days. Klaus can be energetic and chipper and all over the place, but he can be stubborn and irritable and terribly snappy when he wants to be, too. 

He’s sure he’ll get out of his mood with time, but he doesn’t seem all that willing to talk about whatever is making him act up, so Diego can’t do anything for him. Admittedly, Diego hasn’t tried as hard as he probably should, but he’s not perfect. 

Klaus sulks for the majority of dinner, only speaking up when spurred on or when speaking for Ben. Otherwise, he just picks at his food and stirs his drink, making the ice clink inside it irritatingly, and just to be even worse he reaches out and takes the last of the garlic bread.

“I wanted that,” he states, watching Klaus stuff it into his mouth and flip him off. Diego frowns at him, dropping another fry into his own mouth. Klaus slurps his lemonade even though there’s hardly anything left in his glass, and then he stands up with a sigh. 

“I’m gonna get another drink,” he states, snatching his glass. “Want anything?”

His tired eyes sweep over everyone, one eyebrow quirked, and Allison requests the bill. “You got it, my dear,” he hums, and then he whisks himself away towards the bar, narrowly avoiding bumping into the table beside them. Luther eyes him with a wary glint in his eyes when he approaches the bar so Diego clicks his tongue. 

“He’s fine,” he states, raising his eyebrows. At being called out, Luther’s cheeks flush a light pink and he looks down at the table.

“I know, but-”

“The first half of that sentence was enough,” Diego says, challenging him to keep talking so that he has the excuse to say something rude, but Luther just nods his head and doesn’t press the subject further. It’s a little disappointing, because Diego has to swallow down his irritation and change it quickly to smugness at winning this with him, but at least Luther is making an attempt to give Klaus some more respect. 

Diego understands, of course. His own eyes stray a few times to his brother, making sure he is fine by the bar, and he is, of course; sitting and stirring another lemonade, lips pursed together in thought. He trusts Klaus not to go and suddenly order himself something alcoholic, or at least Diego wants to think he trusts him, so he leaves Klaus to it and ignores the little part of himself that still finds it a little hard to believe him when he says he is sober, and sober for good. 

He tunes back into the mundane conversation taking place at the table, Five speaking as if he is giving a lecture to them all. They ought to work on his social skills soon, he thinks, but on second thought they would all probably benefit from doing that.

Finishing, they stack their plates up together, and just as they are doing so Klaus decides to make his return, scurrying over with a sudden energy to his step. “I’m going for a walk,” he announces to them, eyes bouncing back to a man lingering over his shoulder. “I’ll be back later.”

The man doesn’t shift even though Diego knows all five (six, because Ben is there and is most definitely doing the same) of them all turn their gazes to him, looking him over and scrutinising him. He’s an unremarkable guy, nothing interesting about him except for the fact that he was talking to Klaus, but he’s sure he could pick him out of a line up.

“Alright,” says Diego, breaking the silence. “Stay safe, bro. Phone if you need anything, alright?” 

Klaus smiles, nodding. “I’ll be fine,” he says, taking a step backwards. “I’ll see you later.”

Diego bites back a comment about being back for bedtime, and then Klaus is skipping away with the man. 

“Well,” Five comments, pulling his blazer on. “Maybe he’ll stop sulking.”

“Debatable,” says Diego, and then they head back outside and return to the Academy where the rest of his night is entirely boring. He debates messaging Eudora, but by the time he has psyched himself up to do so, it is late and she is probably already asleep. And plus, he has been teetering between wanting to avoid her like the plague and not let her out of his sight, because the last time he saw her -

He tries not to think about it too much, but it’s a futile attempt. 

He starts his morning by taking advantage of the Academy’s gym, and then wanders into the kitchen just in time for Grace to set his breakfast by his seat. Everyone else is there already, digging in, and he overlooks the awkwardness he feels when he comes and sits in his usual chair, having breakfast with everyone again. They might be trying to be better with one another, but that doesn’t mean it is easy.

“Thanks, Mom,” he says as she pours him a cup of coffee. Grace smiles, and it seems less forced and programmed than it did a few weeks ago. He showers, and then he heads to the gym to help set it up for the morning, sweeping floors that seem to never get any cleaner no matter how much he cleans it. His lunch consists of soda from a vending machine and a sandwich he doesn’t even like, but he sits on a bench, listening to the sound of fists slamming into punching bags, and gnaws away at it nonetheless. Half way through, he pulls his phone out for a distraction and pauses.

He hasn’t heard anything from Klaus, and he could already be back at the Academy - could have gotten a bus or a taxi or a lift from the guy he was seeing - but he decides to go ahead and phone him anyway, just to make sure.

His phone rings, and rings, and rings, until it goes straight to voicemail. Diego hangs up and sighs, though isn’t surprised; Klaus is horrible at answering his phone.

He finishes his sandwich, puts his trash away, and keeps sweeping up.

He manages to get another quick workout, making use of the gym equipment around him before he heads back to the Academy around dinner time. He wanders in, hanging up his jacket and making his way to the dining room, hoping he made good time and it is just being served up. He knows when Grace begins to cook dinner, and he isn’t surprised that he arrives seemingly only a couple of minutes after everyone begins to eat. 

“Diego, dear, I thought you were going to be late,” she comments, turning to watch him come in.

“Sorry, Mom,” he says, eagerly sitting down to eat. The entire room smells heavenly and his mouth waters. He hardly touches the bottom of his seat before he picks up his fork and stabs it into his meal. 

“Let me know if you’re staying out late next time,” she says, smiling gently at him, and he bobs his head in a nod, mouth too full to respond. 

“Is Klaus not with you?”

His eyes bounce to Allison, eyebrow raising in questioning. She turns from where she was eying the doorway to meet his gaze, fixing him with a questioning expression of her own. 

“What?” He asks, and now he notices that Klaus’ seat is empty. 

“You were late,” she states, and her voice is a little raspy and she has to take a drink of water before she continues. “Thought that you might be getting Klaus.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s still not back? Did he not phone or something?”

“We thought he would have phoned you,” Five comments absently, eyes on his dinner.

“I phoned him around lunch time,” Diego mutters, eying the empty chair with a frown. A sliver of anxiety worms its way through his guts as his mind jumps immediately to conclusions. “Didn’t answer, I thought he would have been back already.”

“You don’t think…”

The table falls silent, but it’s the most likely situation and they all know it. Klaus has been high for as long as Diego can remember, and he’s sure it would be too good to be true if Klaus really got sober this time - or that he managed to just ease into sobriety without a single slip-up. Though they had all been trusting him and hoping for the best, there was still the subconscious expectation that eventually their brother would relapse. 

“I’ll phone him again,” he decides, reaching for his phone. Everyone falls silent, listening to it ring, and ring, and ring, and then go to voicemail once more. The atmosphere in the room falls as if the voicemail just confirmed their suspicions.

If he has gone and relapsed, then Diego assumes he is probably somewhat afraid to come home and face them all, so although he wants to be frustrated and mad (because Klaus never seems to understand that he can’t stand watching his brother throw his life away and not care about himself; Klaus has never had to see himself in the states he ends up in sometimes) he takes a breath to calm himself, and he leaves a voicemail.

“Hey, bro. Look, I know you’re probably just out with that other guy, right, but your phone’s on and you’ve not opened anyone’s messages, and we know you’ve been down lately. We’re trying that whole family shtick, right? So, uh. Just call back, or something, bro. You didn’t come back last night and we’re worried. I’ll come pick you up, if you need. Just let me know.”

He ends the message and sets his phone down on the table, staring at it expectantly although he just knows that Klaus isn’t going to phone him back.

“What now?” asks Luther. Diego’s shoulders slump and he sighs, turning his attention back to his dinner. Suddenly, his appetite is diminished and he spends a moment just picking at his food.

“We wait,” he shrugs. “Hopefully he replies, I go get him and bring his ass back home, and… we deal with it then.” He lifts his gaze, looking at his siblings for their opinion. Allison is frowning at his phone. He shifts uncomfortably, and tries not to think too much about it. He finishes his dinner, throwing occasional glances towards his phone without looking too closely as if trying to act casual and as if he isn’t worried. 

Dinner goes by without a response, and he helps Grace clean up the dishes afterwards, aware of the weight of his phone in his pocket and how it remains silent and still. His siblings give him meaningful looks that he doesn’t respond to because he doesn’t know what to say. It gets late, and there is still no response; not even an indication that Klaus has opened his messages at all, and the only thing he knows is that his phone is on.

He itches for his police radio, that old familiar urge to sit up all night listening for any cases about a dead junkie found somewhere. He is mad at Klaus for a while, going and ruining his progress, putting Diego back into this position of worrying over his brother’s wellbeing, frustrated Klaus still doesn’t seem to care about himself or his family. 

It’s with that same familiar anger that he pulls his phone back out, ringing his number again. It goes to voicemail once more, unsurprisingly, and Diego resists the urge to throw his phone.

“Klaus, come on,” he says, “just answer your phone. We’re getting worried now, bro. Just answer your phone or even have B-Ben tell us you’re okay, okay? Just let one of us know you’re alright.”

He can’t help the way he stammers over Ben’s name, and the reminder of his brother saps his anger and energy out of him, giving way instead to worry instead. His body sags and when he closes his eyes, old memories play out on the backs of his eyelids; of loose grins and shaking limbs and bloodshot, oblivious eyes, and Klaus stumbling his way through a conversation, too high to follow it for longer than a few seconds.

He stares at his phone for several more moments, willing it to light up and display his brother’s caller ID, but nothing happens. He puts it aside, glaring at it, and gets into bed.

### 

“No response,” he announces in a grumble over breakfast. 

“Huh?” Says Luther, confused.

“From Klaus,” he reiterates. “No response from Klaus. Nothing.”

Luther frowns, face falling. “You can’t expect a response anymore,” he states. “Just leave him to it. If he wants to go and relapse and ignore us all, let him. We can’t keep chasing after him, Diego.”

“He’s our brother,” Diego says, fork hovering an inch from his lips. 

“And he’s been doing this for years.” Luther looks around, trying to find some support. “Come on, we knew this was going to happen. If he wants to stop being childish and come back, that’s up to him.”

“Gee, and I thought we were trying to be better to one another,” Diego mutters, rolling his eyes. “He’s fucking trying. We don’t just drop him the first time he slips-up.”

“It’s not anywhere near the first time, Diego.”

“It is now.” Diego sets his fork down and sits up a little straighter, ready to stand, when Allison groans and waves her hands between them.

“Bickering isn’t going to get us anywhere,” she states, glaring at the both of them. “Luther has a point - wait, hear me out - there was a chance that this was going to happen, and it did. We expected that. Klaus is an adult and he needs to take responsibility for his actions. But, we can’t just give up on him immediately. We ought to try to… find him, or something.”

“What?” Luther asks, frowning. With more confidence, Allison nods her head.

“We should try to find him,” she repeats. “If he won’t come to us, we’ll go to him. There’s got to be an easy way to find him.”

“His phone is still on,” Five comments, staring at Diego. “Right?”

“Uh, yeah. Or, it was last night - I’ve not tried phoning him again today.”

“So, can’t we track his phone? It’s cheap, but I made sure they were good ones so we could keep track of one another,” she suggests.

“Best idea we’ve got,” Five agrees with a shrug, looking around at them all.

“I think we should,” Vanya agrees, staring at Diego. He tries not to look at her for too long.

“I’m down,” he says. He doesn’t say that he’s sure Ben is yelling at them, annoyed they didn’t do this earlier. It could be too late. Diego tries not to consider that.

“Try and phone him again first,” states Five. “If he doesn’t pick up, we’ll trace it and I’ll go over there first.”

“Why you?”

Five rolls his eyes. “I’m quicker. If he’s gotten himself into trouble, I’ll be there quicker than you lot will be.” He gestures at Diego. “Well, go on.”

Sighing, Diego tugs his phone from his pocket, finds Klaus’ contact and dials it. It rings, and rings, and rings, and rings, and then - voicemail. Deflating and ignoring the stab of worry in his stomach. 

“If you don’t answer your phone, we’re going to track it in ten minutes, Klaus. We’re worried for you – if you’ve just dropped this and…” He has to pause, exhaling slowly and looking away from his siblings. “We’re tracking your phone. You better be with it.”

Five holds his hand out for the phone, and Diego hands it over, letting him mess with it for several moments. He stares at the screen, brow furrowing, and then he places the phone on the table as it displays a location and a blinking dot. 

“He’s out of the city,” he states. “Or, his phone is.”

“What?”

Five shrugs, standing up. “I’ll go. Get ready and I’ll come back and tell you if he’s there or not.”

“Sounds good-”

Five is already gone. Sighing, Diego looks at his other siblings, and then they all get up, putting on shoes and coats and waiting around the front door for Five to return. It is probably only a handful of minutes before he reappears suddenly, but it seems to stretch out for eternity where his stomach churns with anxiety over not knowing what Klaus is doing - and being outside of the city makes no sense, and he fears that he’s dropped his phone and if he was on the way out, then he could be anywhere and it will be impossible to find him.

Then Five reappears, and he looks pale. “He’s there,” he announces. “Get there, and hurry up.”

“Five, is he-”

Five is already gone. 

“Do you think he’s…” Allison trails off, glancing at the spot Five had been in only a second ago.

“Let’s just - get there,” Diego says after a moment, nudging the doors open and hurrying to his car.

It is awkward, because Vanya comes with him whilst Allison and Luther go in Allison’s car. The drive feels horrifically long, following a satnav to where might as well be the middle of nowhere, and now, with Five’s reaction, he just knows Klaus has gotten himself hurt, and he’s probably been hurt for a while now, hoping they’d hurry up and find him.

Did he even hear the voicemails Diego left? 

His fingers curl around the steering wheel tightly, knuckles pale with the force, and he picks up the speed a little.

Diego notices it on the way out of the city. It could just be a coincidence, but when they keep heading in the same direction, he doesn’t think it is just that. There are sirens echoing around from emergency vehicles that hurry past Diego on the road to get somewhere else. Multiple vehicles, all different kinds; a combination that makes Diego’s heart drop, because he knows why each vehicle might be needed, and it just - none of it really makes sense in Diego’s head, except that it is all horribly, terribly wrong.

The scene is just being blocked off by the time he and Allison get there, following right behind the emergency vehicles. He gets out of the car, looking around in the disorienting flashing lights, and he doesn’t see much at first.

He sees the road in the distance and the city behind him; sees twinkling lights and a darkening sky; sees a single tree, being surrounded. He can pick out Five amongst the crowd, and below him - hanging - bloody and limp -

“What the fuck,” he breathes, air knocked from his lungs. The sight doesn’t quite register in his mind, not immediately, even as he stares at his brother for several long moments in which the noise and chaos arounds him fades away to nothing but ringing in his ears and blurs in his peripheral vision. And then the world snaps into action, and the sight registers, and his knees feel weak and he stumbles into Allison.

“Klaus,” he says, and it comes out quiet and hoarse, so he says it again, louder and louder, and he hurries up to the blockade of officers keeping him back from his brother.

He is sure it isn’t the flashing lights when he looks at Klaus and sees that from the top of his head to the waistline of his pants, he is bruised black and blue. To the side, snagged on a plant, he sees what might have once been his shirt, now torn into red rags. 

But Klaus - Klaus is-

Diego feels dizzy. He shoves the police trying to shove him back; has to resist the urge to punch him purely because Allison is suddenly by his side again, grabbing his arm and asking him not to in a shaky, breathy voice.

He freezes, all up until Klaus is being lowered and he twitches and cries out, and the sound is something broken.

“That’s my brother,” he says, pushing forwards again, trying to get through to Klaus. That’s his brother, and Diego saw how he didn’t respond to his calls for days, knew that Klaus was trying his hardest to stay sober, and he just - dismissed it. He dismissed it, and it could have caused him his life.

He doesn’t make it any closer, but he can see Klaus from where he stands, peering through gaps between people that surround his brother. He can see the whites of his eyes contrast the darkness of his bruises when they roll backwards, and he can see when they start the grueling process of trying to get Klaus in a position to get him into a nearby ambulance, and he can’t look away even if his head swims so much Allison has to lower him onto the ground, sitting beside him. 

Vanya and Luther join, and then FIve.

“They’re going to take him to Mary’s hospital. We can’t go in the ambulance with them when they leave. I… spoke to him, a little. He’s been here since dinner in the restaurant. I’m guessing that the fucker he left with did this to him.”

The man’s face suddenly flashes in Diego’s mind in clear detail. His hands flex, itching for a knife out of reflex. He doesn’t know anything about the man other than his appearance, doesn’t even know for sure if he is the one who did this to Klaus, but he knows damn well that he isn’t going to be around for longer than Diego can help.

The look on Five’s face tells him that he agrees, but he rises to his feet. “Later,” he says, turning to look over his shoulder. Now that he has looked away, Diego can’t bring himself to look back. He doesn’t want to. The orders and sounds of equipment he catches is enough to let him know what they are doing. “You should get ready so we can meet them in the hospital.”

“Right,” says Luther, voice unsteady. 

“Right,” Diego repeats in a croak. After several moments, he tries to stand up.

The ambulance doors thud closed, a small smear of blood left behind from the paramedic’s hand.

In a blur, Diego gets in his car, and he drives after his brother.

### 

That night is spent sleepless in the hospital’s waiting room. They can’t do anything except wait as Klaus is rushed away from them, interrupting the quiet lull of the hospital which had been fairly empty and quiet before them. When questioned, all of them recount the man Klaus left with and when, although Diego is tempted to tell them not to so that he can keep him to himself, find him himself, deal with him himself.

For now, though, the world is still a bit of a blur. His ears ring faintly and he spaces out, blinking every time a doctor or nurse comes a little closer to them, hoping for the best. Light is filtering in through the windows and new people are coming in before they receive anything.

When he stands, his knees wobble and he has to steady himself on the chair for a moment, and when the doctor talks to them, says things about surgeries and injuries, imagines flash in his head to relate; reminds him exactly what situation Klaus was in; what the doctor is referring to. He swallows down his nausea, greeting the information in a similar fashion to whenever Reginald lectured them; pale-faced and listening loosely, picking up only the important parts. Such as - Klaus is alive.

Klaus is alive, and that’s what matters. In intensive care, and not guaranteed to pull through the day, or the week, but guaranteed to need monitoring all the time, and physical therapy when (if) he wakes up; not guaranteed full control of his hands back, at least not for a long time without working for it, but guaranteed the likelihood of having issues walking and dealing with pain even if everything heals nicely. That’s not imagining the impact it would have on his mental health that could only be told when (if) he wakes up.

When they are finally allowed to stumble into Klaus’ room, part of Diego wants to turn around and walk back out. He had looked bad from a distance in poor, flashing light, and he only looks worse close up. What isn’t hidden beneath blankets or bandages is bruised and dark. He sinks in the hospital bed, chest rising and falling, aided by the oxygen he is being supplied. 

He isn’t awake now, and they can’t touch his hands, or wrists, or forearms, in fear of messing up the injuries, and it looks as if it would be painful to touch him anywhere else, so they all settle on crowding around his bed and staring at him as if he will sit up and crack a joke; grin wide and deflect everything; ask if they are all okay instead of him.

He doesn’t. He lays in bed, remains fast asleep, stays too still. 

Diego thinks about how they all claimed to be trying to be better, and wonders how they let it slip and let this happen to their brother, and he fears he might not get the chance to apologise. He isn't sure it wouldn't only do more harm in the end.


End file.
